Okay is Better Than Usual
by whitchry9
Summary: Depression doesn't just go away because you do things to help other people, or because you realize that your life isn't that bad. And it certainly doesn't go away because other people remind you of those things. Bruce doesn't understand why no one else gets that. Written for a prompt. 8 chapters. Trigger warnings for mentions of suicide attempts.
1. Chapter 1

Bruce had been doing okay for a while.

Not good, because he couldn't remember the last time he'd been good, but okay.

And okay was better than usual, so he was content with being okay.

But then the whole Avengers thing happened, and it brought up a whole lot of things he'd managed to get over, or maybe just suppress, because he'd do that too. (But hey, suppression worked too, and it generally involved less damage, so he'd take it.)

But it wasn't just that he was back in the States, and that being there brought up so many things he'd worked hard to forget, but it was also the fact that other people wanted to talk about it.

It was his own fault, really, after his outburst in the lab, but none of them were really themselves, under the influence of Loki's spear.

But he didn't lie, he just spoke more freely than he would have.

The bottom line was, everyone else on the team (because apparently they were a team now) knew.

He thought it would be okay, for at least a while, with everyone going their own ways after sending Loki and Thor back to wherever the hell they came from. Steve rode off on his motorcycle, Clint and Natasha went back to do whatever they did at SHIELD, and Tony took Bruce home with him.

And for the first bit, it was good. Tony made him feel welcome, gave him his own floor, a Hulk proof room, a lab.

_A lab._

It was a brilliant lab, bigger than anything he'd worked in before, and it was entirely his own.

So for a while, it was good. Bruce wasn't good, he was just okay, but it was good.

But Tony had obligations, and a company to run, so he had to go back to Malibu with Pepper.

Then he very nearly died and everything almost went to hell, but it didn't.

Bruce was in his lab, and didn't know until it was almost over, and he hated himself for that. He wasn't sure what he could have done, but anything would have been better than hearing it secondhand from Tony when he came back.

He had to lie to Tony, and claim he wasn't listening, because _god, _what could he say to that? That he should have been there, that he was sorry?

He never had the words when they were needed. Maybe if he did, he would have been able to fix himself all those years ago.

They moved past it somehow, despite Tony being even more damaged than before. And Bruce didn't know how he could have missed it, because Tony hadn't been sleeping, had been working more and more, but Bruce thought it was normal.

And besides, it was what he did. There was the first sign, that Tony was keeping up with Bruce, considering how messed up he was.

He beat himself up for that for a while, until new things came along.

* * *

Then it was Thor's turn to save the world.

He wondered to Tony if they should have gone and helped him in London, whether it was just for containment or cleanup or anything, but they were told by SHIELD in no uncertain terms that they were to remain in America. It wasn't like Tony to listen when he was told something, but there they stayed, and Thor did fine on his own.

They didn't see many of the others. Steve came by a few times, the last time to tell them he was moving to Washington for SHIELD. Apparently Natasha and Clint were also sort of living there. Steve wasn't clear on details, which made sense, because they were super spies or something.

They didn't hear from Thor after the incident in London, not like they'd heard from him before that, and it just seemed like that was the way it would be.

They moved past it.

Bruce was still doing okay, and it was possibly one of the longest periods in his life that he could remember being just okay.

It was nice.

* * *

Then SHIELD fell.

Steve and Natasha were there on the news, along with a new friend they'd acquired, one with wings, and they singlehandedly took down one of the world's foremost intelligence agencies.

So that was a thing.

Tony insisted everyone move in after that. There was nothing left of SHIELD for Clint and Natasha to cling to, and Steve was lost. Bruce didn't blame him. The man had woken up to find everything from his life gone or completely different, and SHIELD had been the thing he'd clung to since then. It had been the only thing in his life that was steady and made sense.

And then it was gone.

The three of them moved in.

Thor was still off world, not like they'd hear even if he came back, which was what led Tony to hiring his friends he'd met the first time he came to Earth. There were three of them, two scientists and someone who... well, Bruce didn't know what she was. Interesting, from what Tony said.

And everything that had been good (making Bruce okay) was threatened and it almost made him want to run again, because how could Tony keep him safe if something as huge as SHIELD was gone, just like that?

Tony talked him out of it before he even packed a bag, because Tony was brilliant like that, and maybe Bruce didn't genuinely want to leave.

Because here it was good and he was okay, and he loved the stability of it all.


	2. Chapter 2

So there he was, somehow living with all these people who knew what he'd tried to do, what he'd attempted.

And maybe the funniest part (because it was either funny or heartbreaking, and he had enough heartbreaking things) was that when the other guy spit the bullet out, it wasn't his first try. He'd tried before, and Before. His attempts Before were generally more successful, since there wasn't an inner protector that would come out when his life was threatened Before, but other people still tended to get in the way.

He still had the scars from the one attempt. (That was the second one, because the first time he threw up the pills before they could work. He learned from that.) No new damage would remain on his body from After, but everything Before remained, the blueprint that he reverted to after every transformation.

He'd tried twice Before, and then twice more before spitting out the bullet, and by then, he'd resigned himself to being alive.

And god, wasn't that hilarious. He spent so much of his time around people who were struggling for the same thing, and here he was, merely resigned to living.

God, it made him hate himself more.

* * *

When he stuck the gun in his mouth, he thought that would be the end. He thought it would be over quickly, and didn't take the precautions he should have. He woke up miles from where he'd began, a trail of wreckage behind him. He woke up miles away, naked in a field, staring at the night sky. He woke up, and he laughed. He couldn't even kill himself properly. He failed at everything.

_Penance, _he whispered to himself, looking up at the brilliant sky, feeling very small. _Penance._

* * *

He knew he was depressed. He knew it, like he knew physics formulas, and how to calculate moles, and the speed of light.

But... he wasn't sure. Because maybe he had all the symptoms, had had them for years by that point, but what if he was wrong?

Feelings were messy, impossible to quantify and measure, and he lived in constant fear of being _wrong, _even though it was himself that he was diagnosing, and he knew himself better than anyone.

Knew that he could still be _wrong_.

And maybe it didn't help, the perfectionism, because he wasn't going to seek out help, because _what if he was wrong?_

That was near the beginning, Before, when he still had the choice of getting help.

Afterwards, when he was on the run, there was no option of seeing a doctor or a therapist, because of the whole fugitive thing. He probably could have, if he wanted to, if he tried, but honestly it was too much work, and he was exhausted with just remaining alive, with no extra energy to devote to anything else, let alone something he could be wrong about.

He tried once, twice, three times more times before giving up on trying to kill himself. He had to resign himself to being a monster, and he did. (The attempts Before didn't have as nice a reason as those ones did.)

He worked on control, because he would never forgive himself if he hurt or killed someone, and it wasn't like he could do anything about it, since he couldn't die.

He worked on control, and then moved on to helping, because he had caused so much hurt that he could at least try to fix some of it, even if it wasn't his fault.

Then Loki happened, and he was sucked up into the mess that happened to be called the Avengers, out of the relatively safe life he'd made for himself.

Because maybe it wasn't safe, but he wasn't actively trying to die.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve was the first to ask, even if it took him a long time. With Tony, it just sort of happened, because he'd spent so much time with him. It was something they couldn't really avoid, or at least not when Tony was drunk.

But Steve was the first to actually sit down with him and discuss it for what it was, not a drunken rambling.

He knew that Steve had been having a hard time recently, with SHIELD falling and everything. The man thought he died to end Hydra, and yet here it was, alive and well.

But perhaps the thing that had been worrying Steve the most was the reappearance of his friend, the one who had died, as a Hydra assassin.

Yeah, Bruce could see how that could mess anyone up.

"Bruce," Steve said carefully. He paused, looking at the tablet in Bruce's hands. "Oh, I'm sorry, are you busy?"

Bruce put his tablet down. He probably could have said yes and avoided the whole conversation, but he really wasn't doing anything, and he knew Steve would persist.

"Not really," he admitted. "Did you want something?"

"I was hoping we could... talk."

Bruce shrugged. "Sure."

Steve sunk into the couch next to him, careful to keep his distance. None of them particularly liked to be touched, which mostly had to be learned the hard way.

Steve was quiet for a moment before he spoke.

"You said... when we first met, that you tried to kill yourself."

"Yeah," Bruce said wearily.

"Why?"

Bruce wanted to laugh, because _god, _that was a loaded question. _Why not, _he wanted to answer, but that would cause too much harm.

"I had been depressed for a long time. Even before the accident. But after that... everything fell apart. I was on the run, I was dangerous, and I didn't have anything left to live for. I tried a couple times, the first time with water, and the second time with drugs. But... the other guy came out both times. I figured that a gun would be too fast for him, but it wasn't. And after that..." he shrugged. "I was out of options. So I moved on."

Steve nodded. "You worked as a doctor, helping people."

"Yeah. I tried anyway. I couldn't always. It wasn't an easy life. It was dangerous, for me, and for everyone around me. I was constantly in fear of being tracked down. And yes, I tried to help people. I did it for whatever they could give me, and something it wasn't anything. Sometimes I went hungry, or didn't have a place to sleep. But... sometimes, it was worth it. Sometimes I could save a child, and it made it worth living for another day. But it didn't go away. I was depressed. I still am. Depression is like drowning Steve, and sometimes it just seems easier to give up."

Steve's eyes were heavy with concern.

"It's better now though, right?" Steve asked. "I mean, you're not a fugitive now, you have somewhere safe to live, friends."

"Yeah," Bruce agreed, attempting a smile.

Steve smiled back at him, and patted him on the shoulder. He must have heard what he wanted to hear, even if it wasn't the truth, because he stood up.

"Thanks for talking to me. Keep your chin up," he said, before walking out.

Bruce slouched as soon as he was out of the room.

He knew that. He knew he should be thankful for everything, for the home Tony had given him, for the friendship of everyone, even for what had formerly been SHIELD, for clearing his name in the Harlem incident.

Because that was logical and right and made sense.

But depression wasn't logical. Depression defied logic at every turn. You couldn't reason your way out of depression, you couldn't talk yourself out of suicide because it was wrong.

And no one else seemed to get that.


	4. Chapter 4

Natasha didn't understand. He didn't expect her to, necessarily, so it wasn't like he was disappointed when she didn't.

He was surprised that she was the one to bring up the subject. From what he understood of Natasha, she never spoke about something unless she wanted to.

"You said you tried to kill yourself," she said, throwing herself into a chair in Bruce's lab one day.

It was completely unexpected, and Bruce couldn't help but feel confronted.

"Um, yeah. I did."

"Just the once?" she asked.

"No," he admittedly softly, his attention still on his computer.

She nodded thoughtfully, and he could see her enough from his peripheral vision that he didn't have to look directly at her.

"Was it because of guilt?" she asked quietly.

Bruce startled. "Not entirely," he admitted.

"But part of it?"

He nodded.

"But you stopped trying. You started helping people instead."

It wasn't a question, but he nodded anyway.

"Atonement."

He paused in pretending to look at his computer screen, and turned to her.

"Yes. I couldn't stop being a threat, so I decided that I should at least try to make good for some of the damage I had done."

She tilted her head, and he couldn't help but feel judged.

"I understand that," she told him. "I have red in my ledger."

She got up, and leaned in closer, like she was about to whisper a secret to him.

"But dying doesn't wipe the slate," she murmured.

With that, she turned and left.

Bruce's heart sank. He thought that she understood, and she did, sort of. She understood the debt he had to pay, the wrongs he had to right, but she didn't understand the depression that was at the core of them.

Still, it was better than nothing.

Bruce didn't know much about Natasha, but she was rightfully afraid of him after he nearly killed her.

He sensed there was darkness in her past, more than she'd even told Loki about. He'd seen the things she could do, and there was no way that someone that young with a normal childhood could have learned those things, or gotten all of the red in her ledger.

But as to what her childhood actually consisted of, he wasn't sure. He probably didn't want to be sure.

Honestly, out of all of them, the one with the most normal childhood was probably Thor, and he wasn't even human. But that was how messed up each and every one of them was.

Bruce was kind of surprised that he was the only one who'd tried to kill themselves before, but of course, maybe the others just hid it better, or didn't want to offer it up.

But he knew better than anyone that there was actively trying to commit suicide, and then there was just passively trying to stop existing.

He'd done both.

And maybe Natasha didn't understand the reason behind his suicide attempts, but he couldn't blame her. Natasha had fought like hell to make herself her own person. She had fought, kicking and screaming and breaking bones and spirits in order to make herself free.

The level of control Natasha had over her own mind was frightening, and Bruce wondered if something had been done to her when she was younger, going along with the whole childhood thing.

It was almost like she'd been conditioned to not be able to be depressed. And how could someone conditioned to not feel that understand how someone else could? To her, what he was feeling was just as inconceivable as what it was like to transform into Hulk.

And he couldn't blame everyone else for not understanding that, just like he couldn't blame her.

So he emailed her some articles later that day, but never pushed the subject.


	5. Chapter 5

Thor did come back to Earth on occasion, and Tony's recruitment of his friends, and apparent girlfriend, went a long way in getting him to visit.

It was during one of these visits that Thor sat down next to Bruce, and admitted his sadness over the death of his brother. Bruce was one of the only people who didn't actively hate Loki, not like Clint or Natasha or Tony or Steve. He was probably the only one to understand Thor's sadness. Because no matter what Loki had done, he was still Thor's brother. They had grown up together.

"I know of what he did, but I still mourn for him," he admitted. "Before his death, he proved himself worthy by sacrificing himself."

Bruce nodded. He understood that. He'd thought Loki nearly immortal, like himself, but apparently when fighting other gods and monsters, even the immortal could die. (It made him wonder about himself, if he would ever be able to die. If something out there in the universe could kill him.)

"Sometimes... sacrifice is the only way. Sometimes, someone has to die," Bruce said quietly.

Thor looked at him sharply.

Bruce winced, knowing he was probably thinking back to what he had heard shortly after meeting him.

"You know of this concept well, Bruce?" Thor asked gently.

Bruce nodded. "Better than any one person should." He shifted uncomfortably on the couch.

"I tried..." he admitted. "I tried to die. I thought that I was too dangerous to go on living, that if I died, everyone else would be safe. But it didn't work."

"Is that the only reason you tried?" Thor prompted, because dammit, the man knew more than he let on.

"No," Bruce admitted. "But that's how I rationalized it to myself. I wanted to die, or rather, I didn't want to live anymore. And I justified it by saying it was for everyone else."

"Is it common, the wanting to die?"

Bruce shrugged. "It, not so much. It's a symptom of something else usually. Most often depression."

"And this depression, what is it?" Thor asked, genuinely interested.

Bruce hesitated, because how could you explain it to someone who's never head of it, let alone likely never experienced it?

"It's a sadness, but not a normal sort of sadness. Sadness is an emotion, and it's normal to feel sad sometimes. But depression... depression is never being able to feel happy. Everything is covered with grey, and even when you know you should be happy, it's just... not."

Thor nodded thoughtfully. "And this depression can make you not want to live anymore?"

"Sometimes. If it gets to that point. It can make you feel useless and unworthy of anything, including life. No matter what you do, it doesn't make a difference, because the sadness is always there."

"Did not helping people cure you of your sadness?" Thor asked.

Bruce shook his head. "Helping people isn't a cure for anything. It's what it is- helping people." He sighed. "Depression is tricky, and hard to cure. Maybe impossible."

Thor frowned. "I am not sure we have such things on Asgard."

Bruce smiled sadly. "I'm sure you do. They just might be named differently, or recognized as something else."

Thor nodded thoughtfully. "I will look into it next time I return home. Thank you for opening my eyes to this illness."

That surprised Bruce, that Thor recognized depression for what is was, an illness.

Although Thor was like that. Deep when it mattered, and full of surprises.


	6. Chapter 6

Tony was a comfort to Bruce, even though he should have been anything but. The man was almost polar opposite to Bruce in every way, except for their shared love of science, but somehow, it worked. It was why he stayed, even though he didn't intend to. He moved in and sort of never moved out.

It just worked.

Tony did all the talking, Bruce just had to make the occasional noise of confirmation, and Tony was appeased with that. They both knew he was talking more for the sake of talking than to say anything. Tony was reckless and wild and Bruce was reserved and careful, but somehow Bruce was the one who nearly blew up the lab first. Tony favoured loud rock, and Bruce favoured quiet meditation soundtracks, but they managed to compromise on classical music, of all things.

So Bruce thought that if anyone would understand, it would be Tony, Tony who had looked heartbroken when he told the whole room that he couldn't be killed, because he'd already tried. Tony who looked like he understood what that meant. Tony, who was damaged and broken in all the same and different ways as Bruce, surely he would understand. Tony who had been kidnapped and nearly killed multiple times, but seemed to be immortal.

Bruce felt immortal sometimes. But he most certainly didn't deserve it. But then, maybe no one did. Immortality was a terrible privilege.

He read a lot, and watched a lot of television, perhaps more than he should have been able to while on the run, and immortality was a more common theme than he would have thought.

Because sure, immortality seemed great, but it never was. It always ended up with everyone around you dying and suffering while you remained, unchanging.

Bruce wasn't sure if he could live with that, but it certainly wasn't like he had any other choice.

And god, wasn't that just perfect.

So Tony and Bruce were friends, which was weird, and Bruce thought if anyone would get it, it would be Tony.

But Tony was different. For all his damage and sadness and emptiness, he wasn't exactly depressed, at least, not in the same way Bruce was.

And Tony's father... Bruce would have liked to let the Hulk meet Howard, because it was apparent that Tony's father had taught him a number of things from a young age. That Stark men were made of iron, that men didn't cry, and that he should never show any weakness.

So Tony made himself into Iron Man (gold titanium alloy, he'd told Bruce more than once), and hid himself behind armour that wasn't made of any sort of metal, and drank to cover up anything else that the armour revealed.

Tony wasn't suffering from depression as much as he had accepted it as part of him, incorporated it into his personality, welcomed it. _Embraced it. _

So Tony didn't quite understand the stifling hold that depression had on Bruce. He didn't understand the allure of falling asleep and never having to wake up, because no matter how bad it got for Tony, there was always something else.

Hell, when Tony was drunk once, he'd told Bruce about how in the middle of being tortured, he'd come up with the idea for miniaturizing the arc reactor. Because no matter how grim the future looked for Tony, there was always something else he could do, something else to make, some plan to carry out.

Bruce admired that, but he wasn't that sort of person. He wished he was, but he wasn't, and he didn't know if you could just change yourself like that.

So Tony was the first one he spoke about it with, but even he didn't get it. And Bruce wasn't sure why he thought anyone _would _get it. After all, he barely did, and it was his own mind that was screwing with him.

Because it took him a long time to realize that depression wasn't anything that could be reasoned with, thought out of, fixed by helping others. And if it took him so long to accept that, he couldn't blame anyone else for not understanding.

But maybe he could help them understand.

It sounded like a lot of work though, and on the days where it took all of his energy just to keep breathing, the thought nearly destroyed him.


	7. Chapter 7

Most days, it didn't bother him that everyone else couldn't understand. Or didn't. It wasn't that they couldn't, because he was sure if he tried, he could make them understand, but he couldn't imagine having enough energy for that even on the best of days.

Most days it was okay that none of them understood. Most days he could make it out of bed (if he'd gone to bed that is), and eat something, and go to work in his lab for most of the day. Most days he could carry a conversation and leave the Tower if he needed to. Most days he could live with the fact that he was depressed, and resign himself to the fact that maybe he was just meant to live like that.

But some days he had to force himself to open his eyes in the morning, to get out of bed, to do anything, let alone get dressed or go to his lab or even speak with another person. On those days, he wondered if there was anything else besides the cloud of depression that was smothering him. On those days, he couldn't remember what happy felt like, what love was, that there was any emotion besides drowning. Those were the days he almost hoped aliens attacked, because he wasn't actively trying to die, but sure as hell wouldn't mind if he did. It scared him that he was that careless with his life, but he was just so tired, and he couldn't see any other way out.

It was so unfair. Because other people who were severely depressed had options. Terrible options, yes, but he was reaching the end of his tether, and he would have given almost anything just for the ability to die.

It was on those days that his mind terrified him, and he would remain in bed, where everything was soft, and he couldn't harm himself if he tried. He was proud of himself for that measure of self care, no matter how small. He was proud of himself for not letting depression take every fucking thing from him. That little flicker of pride made him think that he could do more, and maybe even get better, if such a thing existed.

But on those days, he couldn't be bothered to do anything about it. He couldn't talk to anyone, couldn't pick up the phone and call to make an appointment for therapy.

And on the days he could, he was okay with the way he was, because he told himself _maybe this time it will get better._

It just never did.


	8. Chapter 8

So maybe with the information about Loki, Bruce began looking into other methods. He'd never really stopped thinking about it, because it was a public safety matter, no matter how much it wasn't really that. Superficially, it was about others, and that was what he would tell people. But really, it was entirely selfish.

He kept the research on a locked server, one that even Tony wouldn't go into, because he respected Bruce's privacy, at least that little bit of it. He would poke and prod, but he knew when to quit.

Bruce hadn't even considered other members of their team.

He should have known it would have been Clint. He was the one who hadn't said anything yet, and sure, Bruce could have explained that away by Clint not being in the room when Bruce mentioned his suicide attempt, but he and Natasha seemed to be attached at the hip, and there was no way that she hadn't shared at least some of that information.

Plus, he was one of the only people who could sneak up on him while he was working on the research.

"What are you doing?" he asked sharply, and Bruce spun on his stool, while hastily minimizing the files so Clint couldn't see them.

"Jesus Clint," he hissed. "Don't do that. What do you mean?"

"I'm not stupid Bruce," Clint said softly. "I know what that is. I thought that you were over this? That you were better? I thought that being here, with everyone, with having a stable place and friends and not being chased, I thought that... you were doing okay."

Bruce exhaled loudly.

"I am. This is me okay."

Clint's face was pinched, and he looked like he wanted to shoot something, his hand twitching in lieu of reaching for his bow.

"You don't seem okay though. You seem... distant. And I know that's sort of your MO, but I talked to Tony... and everyone really, and they're all worried. In their own ways, but they are."

He shifted slightly, not looking at him. "Tony especially. He's just wondering... is there something else he should do? Because we all understand how you could be depressed considering what you've lived through, Calcutta, Rio... I dunno, I guess we sort of figured that exposure to them would make you realize that you don't have it so bad, and that coming back here would make you realize that you're wanted and needed."

Bruce had reached the end of his rope, and other than hulking out, there wasn't much he could do.

So he did the only other thing he knew how. He ranted.

"You think I don't know that other people have it worse than me?" he asked, almost hysterical. "I lived with that. I lived with _them._ I have seen suffering and death and pain like nothing you can imagine. I know that I don't have it bad. I told myself that every single day, and I still do. But you can't talk yourself out of depression. Do you think anyone would be depressed if it worked like that, if you could just tell yourself, oh it's not that bad, and snap out of it? Because I have been trying for more than ten years, and if it hasn't worked yet, it's sure as hell not going to. So please don't tell me that other people have it worse, because I know. I know. But invalidating my suffering doesn't make it any lesser."

Clint was quiet for a minute, and Bruce was terrified at what he would say.

"I _can_ imagine, you know," he said quietly. "Sorry. You said some really... great things, and you're completely right, but I can imagine."

Bruce looked up at him. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"I know. But I can still be sorry that you can imagine those things, that you've lived through some of them."

He shook his head. "Don't. You don't get to be sorry for that. This is part of your problem Bruce. You try to take the blame for everything, and try to fix everything, and you can't. Then you blame yourself for not being able to, and it's a vicious circle that can never end."

He looked surprised with himself. "Wow, that was deep."

Bruce smiled at Clint despite himself. "Yeah, what was that all about?"

He shrugged. "Must be hanging around you too much."

Bruce was skeptical. "I don't think so..." he mused.

Clint shrugged. "Have you thought about medication, seeing someone? I know how it sounds, but it does help."

Bruce glanced at him. "Yeah?"

Clint nodded. "It was hard for me after the whole New York thing. Coulson died, and I..." He trailed off, and Bruce didn't blame him for not wanting to mention the Loki thing. "I didn't really have a choice, because of the whole brainwashing thing, so there was a lot of therapy."

"And it helped?"

Clint shrugged. "There was medication too, and I think that helped more than talking about it did, to be honest, but talking can't hurt. I suppose I did need to talk about it, about what I did." He looked pained. "About what I was forced to do," he corrected, wincing. "Because it wasn't my fault."

He looked at Bruce and shrugged. "I suppose it did help. You should give it a try though, because that's the thing, it really can't hurt. You've hit bottom, and now you can only go up."

Bruce wasn't sure about that. He wasn't sure he knew how much further down rock bottom was. He wasn't sure he wanted to know those depths.

Bruce considered it. He really didn't want to have to talk to someone about anything that had happened, about his childhood, his multiple suicide attempts, about his accident and subsequent incidents.

But he really didn't want to have to keep going on like this. He wasn't sure he _could._

And really, was there any question?

"Thank you..." he said slowly. "Do you think you could give me the number of your therapist?"

Clint nodded, a slight smile creeping onto his face.

"Of course."

He patted Bruce on the shoulder. "And I'm sorry about earlier. You know that I didn't mean what I said. At least, I didn't mean to say what I said." He winced and waved a hand. "Words," he finished lamely.

Bruce smiled. "Yeah. And Clint? Thank you."

"No problem. I'll text you the number later."

With a final wave, Clint left his lab.

Bruce breathed.

When the text came though, the phone number followed by a smiley face, Bruce dialled, and managed to not hang up.

"Hello," he said. "I'd like to make an appointment."

* * *

Bruce is doing okay.

Not good, because he can't remember the last time he's been good, but okay.

And okay is better than usual, so he is content with being okay.

But he thinks that good might be somewhere in his near future.


End file.
